Nightmares of the Past
by Agent S7
Summary: Updated at last! 4 years ago Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup died. Two detectives, trying desperatly to make sense of their deaths, decides to investigate the cold case... RATED R FOR VIOLENCE AND HORROR
1. Death of the Powerpuff Girls

"_The pen of the writer creates both dreams and nightmares. Sometimes it creates things darker than nightmares...things we can't even imagine..." Mike Believe._

Nightmares of the Past

A Halloween-Fic by Secret7

They were all dead now.

Blossom.

Bubbles.

And Buttercup.

They had died 4 years ago, when they were investigating a murder. So it goes...

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Blossom was combing her hair. It was October 11th, 2000. Halloween was coming up, and she wanted to be a ghost. She didn't know how that wish would come true soon.

Buttercup was downstairs with Bubbles, playing video games.

"HA!" Buttercup shouted. "Killed you!"

Bubbles frowned. "No fair..."

"Fair AND square, sis! I kicked your--"

"Girls, girls! Settle down!" The Professor said angrily. "It's just a game. Besides, the mayor's on the phone!"

"OK, OK!" Buttercup yelled. "Let Little Ms. Perfect get it!"

Little Ms. Perfect flew down the stairs, and grabbed the hotline phone.

"Hello Mr. Mayor? Oh no...a murder?"

There was a long pause.

"Mike Believe...? Oh god..."

The video game was paused. The girls were silent, as was the Professor.

"What...happened?" the Professor whispered.

"Mike Believe...somebody...killed...him..." Blossom was barely able to say.

There were more silent tears for several seconds.

"Mikey...?" Bubbles whimpered. "Oh, Professor!" Bubbles cried, hugging her dad in tears.

"I...can't believe it..." Buttercup muttered. "It just...can't be true..."

Blossom bowed her head and closed her eyes.

"There's nothing we can do," Blossom finally said. "What's done is done, and we have a mission to find out what did this to Mike, and to make it pay!" she cried.

Her sisters nodded softly.

"Yeah, Bloss. You're...right. We gotta...make whoever did this pay!!!" she suddenly burst into anger.

"Poor Mikey..." Bubbles whispered.

"It's OK, Bubbles...We're going to get whoever did this!" Buttercup screamed.

"C'mon, we need to get to 03 Natas St. and fast!" Blossom yelled. "Let's go girls!"

As they jetted away from the house, Professor Isaac John Utonium watched them leave. He felt a sudden jolt of sadness, as if he knew what was to come. As if they would die...

He got a hold on himself and walked back to his laboratory.

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"So, Officer, when was Mike found?" Blossom asked. They were at the scene of the crime, just as she had said, 03 Natas St. Police surrounded the fairly large house where Mike used to live. _Used to live_. Those words stung all three girls.

"He was found lying next to a typewriter in his room," the cop responded.

_What? Who uses a typewriter?_ Blossom thought to herself.

They began to float into the house slowly, to investigate the murder, but—

"Don't." a woman said, walking up to them. She had long blonde hair with green eyes. She was wearing a long, old-looking, brown trench coat with a badge on it that said in bold letters **TCPD** **Detective**.

"Why not, officer?" asked Blossom.

"Don't call me that. My name is Detective Shirley, and I demand you don't go in there! If you do, you are going to die!"

"Wh-what?" Bubbles said.

Shirley put her hand on her forehead, and began to explain. "It was October 7th when we found his body. We sent the forensics team in to investigate, and they...they disappeared. All of them. I was sent in to find out what happened to them, and my entire team died. I heard screaming. I saw something, something so horrible...God...it was a monster..."

"We can take them!" shouted Buttercup. "They...killed Mike! An' his family too"

"You can't take them. No one can take them. It may have killed your friend, but it killed...my husband. We always worked cases together, and...I heard screaming...and all I found of him was...never mind. Forget it. Do your job, and kill that asshole that murdered my husband. Just...be careful..."

"We will, Shirley," Bubbles said.

"Yeah...I guess..." Blossom said. She wasn't sure what to do...

_Oh well, _she thought. _We can take anything that they throw at us...right?_

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"I don't think we can take this thing..." Bubbles whined. The old Believe house seemed to be ancient, made of old wood, and covered with strange paintings. They continued looking for clues. They came to a hall, darkly lit and ill taken-care of.

"That's strange..." Blossom said to herself. "You wouldn't think even a house this big would have enough room for all of this stuff..."

"Yeah, I know! It's just freaky!" Buttercup exclaimed. "Like a horror movie...heheheheheh! I'm gonna get ya, Bubbles! I'm gonna get ya!"

"Stop, Buttercup! You're...scaring me! What if something really does come along?"

"I doubt it! There's no such thing as--" Blossom was quickly interrupted.

Mike was standing in front of them, staring.

"You have to leave. You don't know what's been created here. I'm sorry Bubbles. I've always been your friend. I'll miss you."

He walked up and hugged Bubbles. Bubbles was shocked, and began to back away. Mike's arms...his whole body...it was covered in blood!

"Save yourselves," he whispered, before vanishing into thin air.

Bubbles looked for the blood on her shirt—it was gone—and then promptly screamed.

"Bubbles! Calm down! There has to be some logical explanation for this!" Blossom said.

"No...Mikey! He's...alive! I—I have to find him!" Bubbles yelled, and shot forward through the dark halls, flying through one of the doors.

"We have to follow her!" Buttercup yelled.

"I don't think we can..." Blossom whispered. The door had disappeared.

There was a sudden scream in Bubbles' voice, a loud crack, and a long, dark slurping noise.

"Oh god oh god oh god" Buttercup began to mutter rapidly.

"It's OK. She's probably OK. Everything's going to be OK," Blossom reassured herself.

"It's not," said Mike's voice. "I'm sorry, but you are all going to die."

At that, Buttercup took off, shooting towards the exit. Or where it would be. It was gone. She tried breaking through, but it felt like the hardest substance she'd ever felt. And now, she, too, was lost.

"Blossom? Blossom—where are you?!?"

There was no response but a low growl.

"B-B-B-Blossom?" she whimpered.

Blossom heard screaming, barks and growls coming from where Buttercup had gone. She would try to help her sister—if she could. The door behind her had vanished too.

"Oh god...guys?" Blossom whispered. She began to fly as fast as possible, jetting towards a door close to her, opening it, and slamming it shut. She was in a room. Mike's room. It looked like it would be Mike's, and it was covered with pictures of superheroes, villains, movie posters...

A soft bed was against the wall, with a cover depicting Superman resting on it. And in the corner, a typewriter. On the table, resting near the typewriter was a group of stapled papers, a story. She began to read:

_"I'm 5 years old, and my name is Mike Believe. This is a scary story I'm writing, and I hope you enjoy it. The pen of the writer creates both dreams and nightmares. Sometimes it creates things darker than nightmares...things we can't even imagine. Scary things, very, very, scary things. Like the monster in this story. But what would you do if..."_

Blossom was so wrapped up in the writing, she didn't notice the door to the room opening. Footsteps coming from behind her. And when she did, it was too late.

She closed her eyes. She had discovered the killer.

"I know what you are," Blossom said, her eyes closed.

And then a scythe-like arm went through her chest.

And so they died. So it goes.

to be continued...


	2. Turn Back

Nightmares of the Past

Chapter 2

A Halloween-Fic by Secret7

4 Years Later: October 13th 2004, 3:33 PM

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Professor John Isaac Utonium sat quietly in his chair. He closed his eyes, and thought to himself about death. This was the anniversary of his girls' death investigating that murder so long ago... John took a swig of his wine. He'd let himself go ever since the girls had died. He was still physically fit enough, but he was becoming an alcoholic. He sat in peace, and wondered if he should be dead along with his three daughters. Suddenly it was if something was pulling him.

_It isn't worth living...It's been four years, they died long ago! Go with them!_ the urge told him. It was if he wasn't in control. As if something was trying to make him die. He was running towards the kitchen, grabbing the scissors and—

"What am I doing?" he asked himself. He gained control of himself, dropped the scissors, and sighed. Everything had changed in so little time. Of course, everything would have changed anyway, the girls growing up to be, if they were still alive, 9 years old. But things had changed differently, and John Utonium could barely believe it. Two years after the girls had died, the Rowdyruff Boys had taken over the superhero biz (Even they'd felt bad about the girls' deaths. Most probably because they couldn't destroy them themselves...)

Disturbing Utonium's peace, the doorbell rang. It was surprising, since no one ever visited the Professor anymore. He strode to the door miserably, and opened the door, and was surprised to see that, for once, it wasn't a prankster. It was a woman, with golden blond hair and green eyes. He knew this woman, she had been the one to first tell him about the deaths.

"Detective Shirley?" asked the Professor quietly.

"Yes. May I come in?" she asked.

"Sure...sure..." said Utonium, opening the door.

Detective Shirley nodded, and walked in. She glanced at the Professor.

"It's been four years since your children died," she stated frankly. "And we need your help."

The Professor was taken aback. "What?" he asked, shocked.

"There's been another killing. Of course, you know about that."

"Yes...I've seen it on the news..."

"And you know how many of them there have been since 2000. 13 of them. All horribly mutilated. Some with body-parts missing, some with the blood sucked from their body, some seem to have died of fright itself. And you know the worst part?"

"What?"

"You aren't stopping whatever it is."

"_What?_"

Detective Shirley just stared at the Professor. "Even the RowdyRuffs can't go in there. They know that their predecessors, your daughters, were killed in there. They're too afraid. And you know you're the only one who can stop them. You're our resident super-genius, and without you, we'd all be either on the Gangrene Gang's new hangout, in some monkey's world, or in a hell-dimension. You're the best hope this town has. Cook up an invention, man, and use it! We at the TCPD need you," she concluded.

"No. It won't bring my daughters back," The Professor said quietly.

"That's the interesting thing," Shirley began. "You see, in every murder there's been sightings of your girls, scared or uneasy. It's quite possible they're trapped in there. There bodies were never found, you know."

"I know damn well!" The Professor said anger.

"But I know you're also damn ready to go in and save your daughters," Shirley said.

John Utonium gazed at her eyes, unmoving.

"I'll go," he said at last.

"Good. I've got holy water, crucifixes, and other--"

"You actually think it'll do any good?" Utonium asked angrily.

"You may not be a superstitious person, but I am one fuck of a one," she said. "Get on your coat, we're going out."

5:00 PM

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It was raining on the streets of Townsville. The city had gotten pretty slimy since the Powerpuff Girls had left. Sure the Rowdyruffs had taken over, but they weren't nearly as...thorough as the girls had been. The Professor remembered Buttercup—she loved the rain. And she'd always splash Bubbles, and Blossom would scold them both, and--

"No...no...I have to get my mind off of this," the Professor murmured.

"What's that?"

"Nothing. Where're we going, anyway?"

"An exorcist."

"What?!?" The Professor burst out. "You believe that it's actually HAUNTED?!? There's no such thing as ghosts or demons or goblins or all that other crap!"

"Then what killed your girls?" asked Shirley.

"..." He was silent.

"I'm sorry..."

"No...I guess I should be more open-minded...OK, let's see this self-proclaimed exorcist..." he said.

They walked into the large apartment in front of them, walked in, and Shirley screamed.

"What's happened?!?" the Professor shouted.

"Oh god..." Shirley whispered. "Look..."

It was a puddle of blood. A man, or what used to look like a man, was lying in it, mutilated. He was wearing a priest's outfit, though it was hard to tell, because his arms weren't connected to his body, nor was his head. There was a note in the pool of guts that was once a man:

_**YOU SHALL SUFFER A FATE FAR WORSE THAN DEATH**_

The Professor stared in horrible morbid fascination.

"Now do you believe in ghosts?" Shirley asked.

7:13 PM

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"God...I...can't believe it," the Professor muttered. They were looking through the former exorcist's papers and books. Utonium was studying one of the large tomes, entitled "The Eyes of the Paranormal".

"All of this...this is real?" he asked.

"What do _you_ think, science-boy? I've seen the monster at the house. Only it's shadow, but I've seen it. It's a cold-hearted bastard. It killed my lover."

"What is it?"

"I...don't know. C'mon. Grab the crucifix and some holy water, we're going out."

The Professor nodded in agreement, but saw a sword hanging on the wall of the apartment. He felt strange...as if he needed to take it. It glittered brightly in the light...He grabbed it, unable to resist, and stuffed it into his leather bag of protection.

They both climbed into a city taxi.

"We're going to #3 Natas St., Pokey Oaks," the Professor said.

"You kiddin' me?" asked the driver. There was a silence. Lightning flashed through the air.

"No. Does it look like it?" asked Shirley.

"I'm not goin' there, lady. I--"

"See this badge, asshole?" she shouted. "See this?!? You're GOING to take me there, whether you like it or not!"

"Damn..." the driver murmured. The cab rolled over the cement.

The Professor stared out of his window blankly. The town didn't matter anymore. He didn't care about anyone anymore. Except for those long dead.

There was a flash of lightning, and the Professor's eyes widened. During that brief flash, he had seen the form of his daughter, looking menacingly at him. He shook his head, wondering if it was real.

"Turn back. I want you safe..." a voice said in his mind, and there was now not a doubt in his mind that it was Blossom...

To be continued...


	3. Entrance

Nightmares of the Past

Chapter 3

A Halloween-Fic by Agent S7

7:32 PM

Rain spattered on Professor Utonium's white lab coat, cold and unforgiving. He glanced back at Detective Shirley, still in the cab. God, he could use a drink. Just a few moments ago he had been scared shitless by some kind of ghost.

(Hell no. Not a ghost. No such things as ghosts. Fiction. Skeptical. Stay skeptical. Couldn't explain hallucinations.)

And what had happened to the so-called excorcist…

(Fuck. No fuckin way it can't be real it can't have killed em no fuckin way)

Shirley climbed out from the cab and looked at him straight in the eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," John Utonium replied unconvincingly.

"You're fuckin' kidding me. You look pale as a goddam ghost, man!" Shirley shouted.

"I told you, _nothing happened!_" John shouted viciously. Shirley glared at him, unconvinced.

"Fine."

The two of them stopped and looked up at the Believe House. Years had obviously taken their toll. The thing was falling apart. It stood there like a broken down monument to nothingness, the fading cyan paint flaking off in various places. The glass windows were cracked and broken and he could have sworn he had heard something _hiss_. Something…_something_ about the place made Utonium's blood run cold. (No. Not real. Skeptical mind…)

"So. Let's go in."

* * *

"Nice place," John uttered sarcastically. The place had a sort of Victorian flavor to it, a stale, unfeeling appearance that turned one's stomach over. A faded rug with faded carnation designs on it sat under the two investigator's feet. A once-grand staircase lead forward, up into the dark second floor. "So tell me, detective. How exactly do you _know_ that these people died _here_?"

"At first the house was sold to civilians. But…they all died shortly after. Usually mauled. Then, when we declared the house to be unsafe and forbade people from entering, we started to find the victims on the doorstep, year after year."

"Damn."

"I still remember—god—I still remember one of the kids who found the body. It was on the doorstep of the house, like I said. He came in and just started to cry and cry…I'm never going to forget that day."

"Well, now that we've told our tragic tales, how about we get moving?" John asked. Shirley shrugged.

"Fine. But be _careful_."

"Sure," Utonium replied. "If I see Casper I'll tell you," he muttered bitterly.

Shirley turned her head and for a brief instance John worried that she had heard him. But…no. "You take the hallway to the left, I'll go right," she said. John Utonium nodded and the two walked away from each other.

* * *

UTONIUM'S STORY

The dark floorboards creaked with every step he took down the long hallway of pictures. The portraits were old and somewhat eerie, each with wide and cold eyes that seemed like they were watching him eternally. Every picture had a name under it, the name, he assumed, of one of Mike Believe's relatives. John Utonium had never suspected—for a single _instant_—that the Believes were rich enough to afford such a large (though decrepit) house.

Sweat ran down his forehead and he licked his lips again, succeeding only in getting them wet. (I could use a beer.) But he shrugged the thought off.

(Professor John Utonium—what are you doing here? You came with a crazed police detective to investigate what is probably—nothing!) That's it. Lie to yourself, he thought. What could kill three nearly invincible children?

The Professor stepped forward again, and heard two creaks on the floorboards. (_Two_.) He raised his left foot and stepped again, sweat running down his forehead. Nothing. John began to walk again.

There was a hiss, like a vicious snake preparing to attack. And that's when the Professor began to run.

* * *

SHIRLEY'S STORY

The room Shirley stood in was a fairly pretty room, old but with a beautiful and haunting charm. It was lit by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, with dozens of shining glass crystals. The blue, pale, peeling wallpaper displayed designs of some faded plant with wild pink petals jutting out and the bare floor creaked.

(A piano.)

A grand piano sat in the corner. It had been ages since she had played one. She could hear the song her husband used to play. Beethoven's Ninth. And she would dance and they would kiss and she could hear it playing right now!

And her husband would sit at the chair next to the piano and smile and whisper how much he loved her. And she would stare at him, sitting on the piano, covered in blood, whispering "help me" and (oh my god what the hell?) gagging and this never happened but it was happening now and she could see his green eyes, or rather eye, the other was upturned and (OH MY GOD!)—

He was gone. Her heart thumped quickly inside her chest. What the hell had just happened? Nothing had happened. Nothing had _ever_ happened. (All a dream it's trying to trick you kill you make a mistake and you _die_ and) she walked out of the room, her eyes wide.

* * *

John Utonium slammed the door behind him, panting. Shirley stood in front of him, staring at the grand piano in what was almost a trance.

"Detective…are you okay?" Utonium asked in a shaky voice. Shirley blinked and shook her head.

"I'm…_not okay god I'm not okay_. We need to get out of here. This was a bad idea in the first place," she said quickly. There was a creaking and both of them suddenly felt lightheaded.

The doors they had entered through on the east and south were gone. There was one to the north…and that was it.

And the Professor suddenly—desperately—wanted a drink.

7:57

END CHAPTER THREE


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